


Floraphilia

by rebooting



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Edging, Other, Plant sex, Public Sex, transactional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebooting/pseuds/rebooting
Summary: Percy really should have known better than to flirt with sentient grass in the Feywild.Or, what happens when the meadow that Keyleth and Grog antagonised takes the flirting as an invitation.





	Floraphilia

Percy should have known better than to flirt with sentient grass in the Feywild. But whatever Keyleth and Grog thought they were doing, they were clearly making the stuff _angry_ \- angry _grass_ , that was a new one, and he'd be fascinated by it once the immediate crisis was over - and _someone_ had to step in. Percy was better at polite flattery than either of the twins, and better at smoothing over ruffled feathers than Scanlan often cared to be. He'd _thought_ that he was saying the right things, aided by Scanlan's music, as the grass stopped being cinder-dark crimson.

And then he heard his friends let out startled cries, as one slipped from his own throat, as the high grasses wrapped firm around his legs and, with a sharp tug, yanked him to the ground.

He could hear Grog roar in fury, and his immediate reaction was to go for his gun, but the grass snatched the weapon up and tossed it aside, the gun landing with a clunk that made Percy wince for its delicate workings. The deceptively delicate-looking fronds manhandled him onto his back, and he could finally see at least _one_ of his friends - Scanlan, also held firm by the grasses, but still on his feet. Percy couldn't see Grog, Keyleth, or the twins, although he could _hear_ them, swearing and fighting the grasses.

"Guys," Percy called, trying to keep his voice calm. "Guys, try to calm down for a minute. I've got this."

He'd been doing all right, after all. The grass wasn't red anymore. Maybe he just needed to lay it on a bit thicker.

"Sweet meadow," he tried, pitching his voice to project. The grass had seemed to like the nice names the first time he'd tried - and how ridiculous was that, that he was trying to figure out what _grass_ liked? "Sweet meadow, we mean you no harm, and we deeply regret causing you the slightest distress. Allow us to make amends to you, however we can."

The grass immediately near him swayed, bending towards him - _all_ of it, in a complete circle, against any sort of wind - and the tips of it began to flush a rosy pink colour. Scanlan hissed, "Percy, are you making the grass _blush_?"

Percy felt a tickle of grass caressing his throat, and he swallowed. Maybe those had been the wrong words to use.

"Ah. Perhaps."

"Percival?" Vex's voice carried on the still air. "We can't see what's happening. Are you and Scanlan all right?"

"Working on that," Percy called back. "You're not hurt?"

"It's just holding us." And oh, she sounded irked by that. "Grog isn't happy about it. _I'm_ not happy about it. But it's not hurting us."

"All right." Percy considered. "Meadow? We'd, ah - appreciate you... letting up, please?"

The grasses retrieved Scanlan's shawm from where it had fallen when they'd all been grabbed by the grass and lifted it to his hand, and Percy, still held still on the ground, felt the grasses beneath and beside him tickle over his skin.

"Percy, please tell me the grass doesn't want me to set the mood," Scanlan said, his tone for once deadly serious.

"Meadow." Percy forced his voice to be as calm as he could make it, ignoring Scanlan for the time being. He had more pressing matters, like the sensation of grass creeping under his collar.

But at the same time, he'd endured worse, hadn't he? And if it got everyone out safely, it wasn't such a sacrifice. Percy had lost sentimentality about sex at the same time he'd lost the rest of his innocence, in the dungeons beneath his home.

"Meadow," he tried again, curling his fingers into the ground beside his hips. "We can leave, afterwards?"

The grasses brushed over his face, pink tips gently touching his lips, and he felt an odd touch in his mind. It felt almost like Garmelie's charm effect, but infinitely gentler.

_after, you can leave_

"All right." Percy closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. "Take Scanlan back to the others, please."

"Percival!" This time, it was Vax calling. "What's going on?"

"Percy's talking to the grass," Scanlan said before Percy could respond. "And the grass is feeling him up."

"It's _fine_ ," Percy called, exasperation slipping into his voice. Good. That was better than fear or embarrassment. Exasperation and smugness were a noble's armour. "We're coming to an... arrangement. You five just wait over there and I'll be along shortly."

The grass hurried Scanlan out of Percy's sight, and Percy let out a sigh of relief. Bad enough that they'd probably hear any sounds he made; he could probably talk his way out of explaining those. At least they weren't going to _see_ anything.

The grass tightened around his wrists and thighs, stroked over his throat like an airy caress. There was that odd tickle in his mind again, and Percy forced himself not to resist it. The meadow was being friendly about it, so far - as friendly as could probably be expected, given the very alien intelligence behind the Feywild. Resisting its attempts at communication would probably come across as resistance.

_pretty mortal_

The colours kept shifting, turning the peach and pink of the sunset, shading into purple at the roots, and the grasses bent to brush gently over Percy's lips, almost like a kiss.

_so few mortals come to us. such fragile, beautiful mayflies_

"It's an honour," Percy managed, feeling the grass brush his lips as he spoke. "I've dreamt of visiting the Feywild since I was a boy."

The grass curled under his collar, dancing over his skin. _sweet mortal_

He could hear Vex and Vax arguing, but he tuned them out as much as he could. The grass was stronger than it seemed, and the Feywild was unpredictable; this was the safest option that Percy could see, and it didn't cost much. He forced himself to relax as the grass began to behave more like vines, twining together into thicker strands that worked his belt open and plucked at the laces on his shirt.

"Now, you're going to have to let me know if I should do anything, meadow," he said quietly, hoping his voice didn't carry to his friends. "Not to sound terribly melodramatic, but I've never done anything quite like _this_ before."

There was a light chuckle in his head, and the grass brushed over his lips again. _nothing but feel. give us what you feel_

Well. That was simple enough.

 _"Percy?"_ That was Keyleth's voice, over the earring. _"Is this a jenga?"_

"No, no, it's all right." He wet his lips as the grasses tugged his belt free of its loops and lifted his hips to work his trousers down over his thighs. "Just take it easy for a little while, all right? I've got this." He hesitated, and then said, "Meadow, please take out my earring and put it in my pocket."

He didn't want to risk them being able to listen in if he lost control of his voice, after all.

There was a gentle tug as the grass carefully unhooked the earring, and it tucked the magical trinket into the breast pocket of his jacket. Percy let out a sigh of relief as that bit of contact was cut. It wasn't that he wasn't willing to do this for his friends, but he didn't really want them to _hear_ it if he could help it.

By now, the grasses had apparently disarrayed Percy's clothing to its liking. His trousers were down around his thighs and his shirt undone, baring him from thighs to neck, and the grasses kept tickling across his stomach, almost exploring. The touches weren't unpleasant, but they were _strange_ \- too strange for Percy's body to cooperate - and eventually Percy let out a sigh and said quietly, "Not that you're not lovely, but I'm afraid I'm used to more... humanoid... partners."

Another little chuckle, and the grasses caressed his throat softly. _fragile mortal_

A little plant sprouted beside Percy's head, undergoing years of growth in seconds, and a cherry-sized fruit swelled at the tip of it. It had a rosy hue to it and soft-looking skin, and just _looking_ at it made Percy's mouth water, which probably meant it was dangerous. Pretty things in the Feywild were usually dangerous. But he'd asked for help, if indirectly, and the meadow seemed inclined to be helpful in this incongruous little scenario, so when the plant bent over his mouth, he opened it and carefully tugged the fruit free.

It tasted like dew and sunrise and the tarts that the cook at Whitestone used to bake. Maybe if Percy had had a different family, they'd have tasted like something his mother used to bake, but she'd never set foot in the kitchen, and the cook had been one of Percy's favourite servants when he was a child. She'd had a soft spot for him, the bookish boy of the family; she'd always been willing to keep aside a couple of treats for him when he'd been studying late.

He chewed and swallowed, and warmth immediately began spreading through his veins. He sighed softly and said, "Yes, that's better. Thank you."

The grass began to brush through his hair, absurdly gentle, like the meadow suspected he was made of glass. The strands around his arms and legs held him perfectly still, and Percy had a feeling that was to keep him from hurting himself by moving around too much. A few strands of grass curled around his throat, tilting his head back until he was gazing up at the dusky sky, unable to see anything but the sky and the grasses immediately around his head.

Maybe that would be easier. It was strange enough, having _grass_ touching him like this. Maybe not watching it would be easier.

The grasses that wrapped around his cock and began stroking firmly felt thicker than they should have, and Percy assumed they'd twined into thicker strands, like the ones that were pinning him to the ground. It was an entirely alien feeling to having a _person's_ hand on him, but between the stimulation and the fruit the meadow had provided, it was plenty to get him hard, and that was what the meadow wanted, wasn't it? His _feelings_?

Most of Percy's attention was fixed on keeping quiet. He could still hear his friends nearby, well within earshot, calling his name and demanding explanations, and he had no focus to give them more than he already had. He'd feel bad about it later, perhaps, when he thought back and remembered the panic in Vex's voice, the concern in Vax's and Keyleth's, Grog's rage and Scanlan's bleak acceptance as he tried to talk Grog down, but right now, there was the situation to get through.

It wasn't unpleasant, and he had a vague idea that the meadow must have done something like this before, because it knew what felt good. Tendrils of grass rubbed against the sensitive bundle of nerves just beneath the head of his cock, and a braid of grass, rope-thick and knotted in several places, wound between his legs, pressing the knots against him in particularly sensitive places. It wasn't attempting to probe inside him - _yet_ \- and he was absurdly thankful for that. For one thing, the only thing he could think of a plant producing that was even remotely like lubricant was _sap_ , and that was a terrible idea.

 _beautiful_ the meadow murmured in his head as it brought him to the edge, far faster than Percy usually came. The heat racing through his veins from the aphrodisiac fruit made his nerves burn and tingle, and even after the aftershocks of the first orgasm faded, the heat stayed.

Maybe not so easy, then. Percy wasn't a monk, but he wasn't Scanlan, either. His encounters tended not to involve multiple orgasms on his part.

"How much do you want?" he asked softly, licking his lips again to wet them. The meadow wasn't trying to stick anything in his mouth, and that was a mixed blessing; if he was gagged by something, it would be easier to keep from making too much noise, but his mouth and throat were already drying out from gasping and from the effort to keep from crying out.

_more_

Not a helpful response, but he wasn't given time to ask again; the grasses around his cock resumed their attentions, and Percy bit down hard on his lip to keep quiet, curling his fingers into the ground beside him.

Things got muddled, then. Percy was aware of snatches of sound from his friends - "Hold on, Percival, we'll get you," in Vax's voice, Vex calling his name over and over, Scanlan saying heavily, "Shut up, shut up, you'll make it _worse_ " - as the meadow pressed more and more heat into his body, drawing him up into the heights of sensation and sending him tumbling into orgasm again and again. Sometime after anything had ceased to matter but the sensation of grass on him and heat curling in his stomach and low in his loins, he became aware that he'd lost control of his voice, and that moans had given way to incoherent, gasping words.

"Enough, enough, please-"

The aphrodisiac was merciless; the meadow was merciless and gentle and inexorable, and he could hear Vex crying. That, more than anything else, shocked him into enough coherence to collect his words together.

"Vex, darling." His voice cracked as another orgasm roared through him, the grasses collecting the come from his stomach, soaking it into the earth beside him. "Vex, it's all right. It's all right."

"Let him go." _Keyleth_ was crying, too. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said it. Please, let him go."

Garmelie said something, and Grog roared, sounding more furious than Percy could remember hearing him. There was a yelp of pain from the satyr, and then silence, broken by Vax's voice muttering, "Don't say that shit about Percival."

The grass caressed Percy's face again, collecting the tears that had begun to leak from his eyes, and the meadow murmured, _one more_

He could do one more. Biting his lip, tasting blood, he rode the heat until it crested and the meadow dragged the last orgasm out of him, leaving him feeling oddly cold as the aphrodisiac left his system.

 _beautiful_ the meadow sighed, stroking his face one last time and withdrawing the grasses. _you may leave_

Easier said than done; Percy felt wrung-out, too weak to even try to resettle his clothes. As the grasses retreated back to what passed for normal, he heard footsteps hurrying towards him, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see his friends' faces when they saw the state he was in.

They didn't say anything, beyond Vex's tearful, "Oh, _Percival_ ," and they didn't try to make him talk or open his eyes. Gentle hands fixed his clothes, and Keyleth and Vex's magic washed over him, trying to heal.

"I'm not hurt," he managed to say, when he heard Vex make a frustrated sound. "It's all right. I'm not hurt."

And he wasn't, not really. Exhausted, wrung-out, completely incapable of _doing_ anything, but not _hurt_. It was nothing that wouldn't be cured by a good night's sleep, and nothing that _would_ be cured by a healing spell.

"We need to get out of here and set up a camp," Scanlan said quietly. "Think you can carry him, big guy?"

"If someone else carries shithead," Grog grumbled. Percy cracked his eyes open, glancing over at Grog, and saw Garmelie, unconscious and with a bruise forming on his temple that looked like it was in the shape of Grog's knuckles.

"Percy can go on Trinket," Vex said hurriedly, brushing tears off her cheeks. She brought the bear out of the necklace, and as soon as he saw Percy lying on the ground, Trinket made a concerned grumbling noise and nosed at his shoulder. Percy roused himself enough to ruffle Trinket's shoulder fur weakly, offering the bear a tired smile, and Trinket nosed him again.

"Trinket is fine," he said eventually. "Grog, can you help me up, please? We'll be allowed to leave peacefully."

Grog was uncharacteristically gentle as he picked Percy up and deposited him on Trinket, and as they began to walk through the meadow, heading for the forest, everyone stuck close, foregoing forward scouting. Percy fumbled at his breast pocket, trying to find his earring, but his hands were clumsy and weak; he found Vax's hands removing the earring from his pocket and gently fixing it back in his ear, the rogue's expression inscrutable.

" _Are_ you all right, Percival?" Vax asked, his voice soft enough that only Trinket would be able to hear them. "What happened to you-"

"Was our best bet," Percy interrupted. Trinket's fur was warm under his hands, and Vax's hand on his shoulder was helping him stay steady; it was all oddly comforting. He gave Vax another tired smile and said, "It wasn't _bad_ , Vax. I didn't _mind_ it. It just ended up being a lot."

"Maybe. I don't know that Kiki sees it that way," Vax said, glancing ahead of them to where Keyleth and Vex walked together. Keyleth's body language was miserable, slumped and hunched and guilty.

Percy sighed. "I know. I'll talk it over with her later."

Vax squeezed his shoulder gently. "Rest first. We'll have your back."

Percy nodded tiredly and closed his eyes, trusting Trinket to keep him with the group, trusting the others to keep him from falling. That was what they did; they relied on each other, held each other up when they needed to be propped up, did the hard jobs when they were best suited for it. This had been Percy's hard job, and he'd been willing to do it. He didn't _regret_ it, and he'd been telling the truth; he wasn't _hurt_. He was _tired_.

He knew the moment they left the meadow. A gentle touch tickled his mind, and a gentle, teasing voice murmured, _pretty mortal. visit us again_

That brought a smile, unbidden, to his lips. He'd always wanted to visit the Feywild, ever since he was a boy. He'd never expected anything quite like _this_ , but it had certainly been an experience.


End file.
